


let us begin, dear love, where we left off

by villiageidiot



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Embedded Images, F/F, Femslash February, Girls in Love, Hopeful Ending, Memory Related, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:55:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29419725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/villiageidiot/pseuds/villiageidiot
Summary: She’s not supposed to keep checking in on Clary; she knows she’s not. Alec, Simon, Jace… they’ve all tried to convince her to stop. And objectively, Izzy knows they’re right. Every time Isabelle watches Clary smile and adjust, it’s another reminder that she’s gone. Clary is moving on and Isabelle is just…not.
Relationships: Clary Fray/Isabelle Lightwood
Comments: 12
Kudos: 29
Collections: Valentine's Day 2021





	let us begin, dear love, where we left off

**Author's Note:**

> For the Hunter's Moon Discord Server VDay 2021 event & _also_ for Femslash February
> 
> Title from Ella Wheeler Wilcox's "Reunited" 
> 
> Thank you so much to my betas [thatnerdemilyj](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatnerdemilyj/pseuds/thatnerdemilyj) and [alistoney](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alistoney) for their help and encouragement, as well as everyone at the Malec Discord server for basic cheerleading as I wrote my very first femslash. 
> 
> And thank you to [EmberRayneStorm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmberRayneStorm/pseuds/EmberRayneStorm) for the beautiful VDay 2021 moodboard that inspired the fic.
> 
> [ ](https://postimages.org/)   
> 

*

Valentine’s Day is the hardest. The mundane holiday doesn’t mean anything to Isabelle, but Clary loved - no, _loves_ \- it, and Isabelle still loves Clary. So it’s hard.

*

She’s not supposed to keep checking in on Clary; she _knows_ she’s not. Alec, Simon, Jace… they’ve all tried to convince her to stop. And objectively, Izzy knows they’re right. Every time Isabelle watches Clary smile and adjust, it’s another reminder that she’s gone. Clary is moving on and Isabelle is just… _not_.

Tonight is Clary’s third art show, and Isabelle shouldn’t be here, but she hasn’t yet learned how to stay away. 

*

Isabelle had also gone to the first two shows, despite Alec’s warnings, but both evenings were as uneventful as she feared they’d be. Clary was stunning, completely in her element as she wove effortlessly throughout the room. She was at ease, in direct opposition to Isabelle’s discomfort, and Isabelle _ached_ the entire evening. She spent the entirety of both shows wanting to reach out, wanting Clary to see her, wanting to touch her one last time, to say goodbye or hello. Isabelle spent those first two shows just _wanting_.

The paintings were beautiful but didn’t have the same intensity and emotion Isabelle had been accustomed to in Clary’s art. There was a flower garden in a public park, disembodied hands, a sprawling sunset. They were safe, no color, no spark, almost as if they were painted by someone else. _Because they were_ , Isabelle reminded herself. This Clary was not _her_ Clary.

But what hurt was that there was nothing of Isabelle. Not a trace that she had ever meant anything to Clary at all. 

She hadn’t even looked up when Isabelle came in. Or when she left. Or when she stood just a few feet away, berating herself for wanting something Clary didn’t even know she was withholding.

*

Isabelle doesn’t know what she expects to be different at the third show, but it’s Valentine’s Day, and she still doesn’t know how to stay away.

It shouldn’t be any different. But it is.

*

Immediately after she walks into the gallery, Isabelle knows something’s shifted. Clary’s stunning - she always is - but tonight she’s wearing dark jeans and a low cut tank top under a fitted leather jacket, smokey eyeshadow and dark eyeliner. She looks nothing like the Clary Isabelle’s been watching these past few months, the free-spirited artist in patterned dresses and bright lipstick. Instead she looks intimidating, _fearless_. She looks like Clary Fairchild, the Shadowhunter Isabelle fell in love with. She can barely tear her eyes away, but she knows it’s for the best. That resignation that swells and crests when Clary looks up and doesn’t _see_ her, Isabelle can’t handle that tonight. So she has to look away.

Instead, she makes her way towards Clary’s art. Though she’s expecting more of the same as the last two shows, Isabelle is still interested to see what Clary’s been working on and what’s been serving as her inspiration.

Isabelle remembers being an inspiration - but that was a lifetime ago, and she tries to prepare herself for the inevitable day when someone else will be Clary’s inspiration. 

What she never thought to prepare herself for was… _hope_.

Because when Isabelle stands in front of the wall displaying Clary’s artwork, what she sees is herself reflected back at her. There’s a cluster of small canvases clearly in a set: a ruby necklace in one, a coiled snake-like bracelet in another, and a messy blonde wig in a third.

There’s a large canvas of a sleeping woman on a disheveled bed. There’s no visible face, but the long, dark hair and faint markings on the pale skin make it quite clear to Isabelle who exactly she’s staring at.

The largest, though, causes Isabelle to falter and take a small step backwards. The others, those could be a coincidence or whispers of vague memories, but this is jarringly specific. It’s Isabelle’s eyes staring back at her, several times over. Multiple sketches of her own eyes, and Isabelle’s breath hitches.

The top sketch displays a set of narrowed eyes, clearly ready for battle. The sketch below looks to be Isabelle in the early morning, slowly awakening and with no makeup. The third shows an arched eyebrow and a mischievous glint. The fourth is - well, Isabelle can’t be sure, but the half-lidded eyes and glazed expression are probably an indication of what exactly Clary was doing to Isabelle to evoke those eyes. 

Isabelle takes another step backwards, off-kilter in a way she hasn’t been since she first read Clary’s goodbye letter. She needs to breathe, needs to leave, needs to be anywhere but ten feet from the woman she’s still so hopelessly in love with.

She turns around quickly, suddenly disoriented, eyes searching for the exit. But instead her eyes settle on Clary, who’s staring straight back at her.

Clary can _see_ her - or wait. No, it’s only Isabelle’s mind playing tricks on her again, giving her a hope she can’t help but want.

But Clary’s still watching her, her confused expression darting from Isabelle’s eyes over to the wall of her own artwork, a wall of a woman she shouldn’t recognize. Isabelle stares back, mouth slightly parted, and Clary moves as if to approach her. Before she can, she’s stopped by a middle-aged couple, and Isabelle seizes the opportunity. Her eyes finally find the door, and she hurries towards it, not sparing a backwards glance.

Once she finally feels cool air, she aims for the nearest alley and hides there until she can catch her breath.

*

Eventually, she heads to a small park in the city and finds an empty bench. They used to come here together, before patrol or on the weekends, and Isabelle still visits sometimes, despite the fact that it does nothing to dull her heartache. She had hoped the secluded park would be a chance for her to escape, but it serves as the exact opposite. It’s lit for the holiday, strings of lights hanging from the trees and casting a hazy pink glow. Isabelle fixates on the brick sidewalk at her feet so as to avoid the gaze of any of the happy couples on blankets scattered across the grass. 

“It’s - it’s Isabelle, right?” She hears from behind her, a voice she would recognize anywhere. She turns around cautiously, not daring to get her hopes up. 

And there she is. Clary, in all her wild beauty, is standing there, confident but somehow unsure. 

Isabelle slowly rises from the bench and turns to face her. 

Clary looks confused for a moment, face scrunched up like she’s trying to remember something. “Izzy,” she says after a moment. “I used to call you _Izzy_ , didn’t I.” It’s not phrased as a question, but Isabelle refuses to let her heart read into it. 

“Do you know me?” she asks Clary after several long moments. 

Clary shakes her head. “No,” she admits. “But I know that I should.”

Isabelle gives her a smile. It’s sad, but it’s not like Clary can read her smiles anymore. “Your art was beautiful. You’re really talented,” she deflects, not sure what else to talk about. 

But Clary doesn’t seem interested. “I knew you’d be here,” she says. “How did I know that? How do I know this place?”

Isabelle tears her eyes away. This isn’t her Clary, and she can’t keep pretending she is. 

“I don’t - I can’t answer that,” Isabelle answers. 

“But you can,” Clary accuses, eyes piercing. “You just won’t." 

"Clary, I…" 

"How do you know my name?” she pushes, taking a few steps closer. “I want to know who you are, what you mean to me.” Her voice is pleading, and Isabelle can’t bear the pain she hears in it. 

Isabelle tries to hide the stinging in her eyes, the way her breath hitches. “I have to go,” she says. 

But Clary reaches an arm to grasp Isabelle firmly by her wrist. “Please,” she begs in a whisper. “Who are you? Why do I see you in my dreams every night? Why am I painting you?" 

Isabelle’s eyes dart up to meet Clary’s, startled. She doesn’t say anything, but neither does Clary. 

"I’m just someone you knew once,” Isabelle tells her. 

“Someone I loved,” Clary deduces, and Isabelle’s heart falters at the tense. When Isabelle doesn’t deny, Clary drops her wrist, suddenly hesitant. “Did you love me back?” she asks quietly. 

Isabelle considers not responding, but she hates the conflict she sees on Clary’s face. “I do,” she confesses. 

Clary’s face lights up, to Isabelle’s confusion. “Can I show you something?" 

Isabelle just watches her and feels like maybe she’s missed something. "What?" 

"Here,” Clary says, lacing her fingers through Isabelle’s, unabashed, before leading her back to the bench. Isabelle is too baffled to do anything but follow her. 

After they sit on the bench, Clary presses up close and tugs out a battered notebook from her bag, then opens it carefully, balancing it atop both of their legs. 

She flips through the pages slowly, and Isabelle can feel Clary’s intense gaze on her as she watches Isabelle take in each of the drawings in the book. There are more sketches of Isabelle’s eyes, dozens of them, scattered on multiple pages. There are rough sketches of the two of them in bed, and an intricate drawing of their fingers woven together, like they just were moments ago.

She finally looks up to meet Clary’s eyes. She doesn’t know how to process any of this, and she’s on the precipice of hoping for the things that she knows she can’t have.

Clary’s gaze is piercing. “I know I don’t remember you yet, and I get that there’s so much I’m missing. But I know I’m Clary and that you’re Izzy and that we love each other, right? Is there any way - just for now \- can that be enough for you?” she asks. 

Isabelle wants to say, _Yes, obviously, of course, I just want to be with you again_ , but she knows it’s not that simple.

“I know it’s not that simple,” Clary interrupts her thoughts. “But could it be enough? Just for a little while, until I do?" 

Isabelle’s eyes search Clary’s. Maybe the angels are forgiving her. What other explanation could there be? Maybe Clary will come back to her, really come back to her, and all Clary is asking for is some time until she makes her way back. 

"You’re always enough for me, Clary,” Isabelle tells her. She wants to follow it up with a kiss, but she’s still practically a stranger to Clary, so she doesn’t. 

But Clary, who dives headfirst without ever thinking it through, does it for her. The sketchbook tumbles to the ground as Clary shifts and pulls Isabelle’s face closer to her own. 

They kiss, and it’s nothing like any kiss they had before. It’s not like their first one, or their last, because it means something different this time. 

Clary pulls back after only a few moments and rests her forehead against Isabelle’s, smiling for a reason Isabelle doesn’t understand. 

“I can’t wait to remember you, Izzy,” she whispers against Isabelle’s lips. 

She can’t help but to smile back and finally, Izzy lets herself hope. 


End file.
